a little knowledge is a dangerous thing
by Cora Clavia
Summary: All in all, it could be worse.


a/n: Another one of those ideas that kind of…swerved on me a little?

* * *

All in all, it could be worse.

Of course, when Jack had tried to point that out, Carter fixed him with a look that was decidedly less than subordinate. She's too disciplined to actually say whatever she's thinking to a superior officer – in public, anyway – but the expression on her face shut him right the hell up.

She's currently sitting beside the Punishment Wall, her hands chained over her head. It's all a big misunderstanding, thanks to an unhappy villager claiming a woman stole his chickens and a minister of justice who happened to be waiting for his prisoner when she walked by.

It's all very confusing, and somehow it has ended with Carter chained up, Jack pissed off, and Daniel and Teal'C not sure what to do.

The minister of justice was mortified when he realized the mistake; he bowed a few dozen times, trying to express just how badly he felt and how desperately he wanted to fix it. But apparently, it's not as simple as it should be.

"Of course, good sir, of course." He bowed deeply a few more times. "Forgive us, but the only key is in the next village. It is an hour away. We must go there to acquire it."

_Oh, for –_

Rather than express his true feelings about a justice minister who just casually _leaves his keys in another _village, Jack had turned to the rest of SG-1. No way in hell he's sending this long-winded idiot alone. "All right. Daniel, go with him and get this smoothed over. Teal'C, go with him and, I don't know, look intimidating. I'll stay here."

The two of them headed off with the minister – good cop and bad cop, as it were – and Jack looked back at his 2IC.

"So. Seen any good movies lately?"

* * *

Carter shifts her weight again. Jack has to give her credit; they've been here for almost an hour, and apart from the occasional glare of pure icy death when he gets too flippant, she's fairly sanguine about the whole thing. He suspects the surfeit of naquadah nearby is part of it. Given how apologetic everyone has been about the mistake, SG-1 can probably hope to wheedle a decent amount of the element out of their new allies.

"You doing okay there?"

"Fine, sir."

It's not the first time he's asked, and it's not the first time he's gotten the exact same response. "You don't have to do that, Carter."

"Do what?"

"The whole stiff-upper-lip thing." At her puzzled look, he shrugs. "It's okay to say this sucks."

That gets a soft laugh out of her, and he tells himself the warm affection he feels is just relief at seeing her relax, nothing more. "Whatever happened to 'this could be worse,' sir?"

"I'm not the one chained to a wall."

"Lucky you."

At least it's a nice day. It's sunny and warm, a light breeze is coming off the lake nearby, and there's a field of some kind of flowers across from them that's really very pretty. The villagers have decided to give them wide berth, so for the time being, it's just the two of them, sitting in the grass.

"Been a hell of a day, hasn't it?"

"Yes, sir." She leans her head back to rest against the wall. "Hopefully we can convince them to give us some naquadah."

"That'd be good."

He hears a soft rustle and turns, hand instinctively going to his gun, before relaxing a fraction. A little red-headed girl of maybe five or six is standing in the field nearby, watching them shyly, and Jack turns to look at Carter. "She doesn't look too dangerous."

"I hope not."

The little girl scampers towards them and finally comes to a halt in the little clearing they're settled in. "Hello."

"Hi," Jack says. Kid seems nice enough.

"I'm sorry you're stuck here," she says to Carter.

"Thanks."

"Here." The girl holds out a little bouquet of flowers towards Carter, then pauses as she considers the fact that her hands are chained up. "Um – here." She turns and hands them to Jack. "For your wife."

"She's not my –"

"Goodbye!"

The girl runs off before Jack can explain, leaving him with a handful of pink and purple blossoms and a woman who is absolutely, positively not his wife.

* * *

The sun has been steadily rising, and it's getting warmer. Carter shifts uncomfortably, and Jack finally decides the silent suffering thing is a little much. "You okay?"

"It's a little warm, sir."

"Do you – want me to –"

He gestures vaguely at her, hoping this is a tactful way of asking _how much do you want me to undress you?_

"If you could get my jacket off, sir. That would help."

"Right." Jacket. That's easy. That's not inappropriate. It's certainly not going to make things _incredibly complicated_.

He thinks it right until the moment he kneels in front of her and starts tugging the zipper down, and there's no mistaking the blush that peppers her cheeks. She's biting her lip – he really wishes she'd stop – and he catches her eyes before she pointedly looks away.

Jack briefly wonders if there's any possible way she might not know he's thought about doing this before.

He can't help but notice the bob of her throat as she swallows, but she has the grace not to comment. He manages to work the jacket sleeves up her arms, over her wrists, and twists it out of the way on the chain over her hands. "That okay?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"No problem." He almost adds _anytime_, but realizes that's not the best idea.

* * *

The morning winds on.

The Punishment Wall blocks the sun, at least, but it's still hot and getting hotter. Jack's shed his own jacket, and his t-shirt is starting to stick to his skin. He's pulled her boots and socks off for her, which seems to help a little.

_Daniel and Teal'C better be hauling ass_.

Carter handles the heat well enough, but Jack watches the beads of perspiration gathering along her neck until she finally swallows and says "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"If I could ask you –"

"What do you need?"

"I'm wearing a tank top under this." She nods down at her shirt. "Would you mind?"

_No. That's the problem._

"Sure."

It's a testament to just how uncomfortable she must be that she's voluntarily asking him to take off more of her clothes; the thought is sobering enough that Jack's pretty sure he can get through this with less embarrassment.

The t-shirt is damp as he tugs it free from her waistband. He peels it up carefully, then realizes, too late, that her tank top is sticking to the fabric, revealing the pale skin of her taut, toned abdomen. _Shit_.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"It's okay." Her voice is strained, and he's close enough that he can feel the heat of her breath on his neck.

Jack fumbles to pull the layers of fabric apart. He's trying to be respectful. He really is. But his hand brushes the smooth, pale skin just below her navel. And he can't possibly miss the sudden, sharp breath she takes in, the rattle as she twitches reflexively against the restraints, her back arching ever-so-slightly. She looks up at him through dark lashes, her lips parted, her breath shallow, and it hits him with blinding clarity.

This is _working_ for her.

The realization that a tied-up Samantha Carter is physically aroused by his touch sends an embarrassing amount of his blood southward, and Jack grits his teeth.

No. Not doing this. Not the time, not the place.

"Sir?"

He tries very hard not to think about how soft and breathless her voice is. "Sorry."

"'Sokay."

He works the shirt free and over her wrists, focusing on literally anything other than how much knowledge he suddenly has about exactly what Samantha Carter seems to like in bed.

Because he is absolutely sure that the flush spreading over her collarbone has absolutely nothing to do with the air temperature.

He tugs a bandanna out of his pocket, pours water from his canteen over it, and turns to her. "This okay?"

"Please."

He dabs at her forehead and neck, then raises the canteen to her lips. She takes a long drink, and when he pulls it away, there are droplets on her lips, trickling down her chin.

Before he can stop himself, Jack reaches for her face, his thumb catching the droplets on her lower lip. Her breathing quickens.

He doesn't wonder; he _knows_ that if he traces his hand down, down her throat, dragging his touch teasingly over her body, she'll gasp and squirm under him, sigh into his mouth, shiver and plead with him for _more, please, sir_.

Jack pulls away like he's been burned.

She blinks, looking up at him, but there's no confusion on her eyes. She knows. She knows exactly what he's thinking. And she's thinking it, too.

"You, ah." He clears his throat. "You all right?"

"Yes, sir."

They both pretend they're not imagining her saying it in bed, just like that.

"Good."

They fall silent, determinedly not looking at each other, and Jack settles his back against the wall, far enough away from her that he can't fall victim to the temptation to touch.

Nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

By the time Daniel and Teal'C appear across the field, heading towards them with the justice minister and a half-dozen other locals, Carter has dozed off, her head resting against one arm.

"Carter. Hey, Carter." She looks up through hazy, unfocused eyes. "Looks like your jailbreak's here."

As the justice minister bows several times and delivers a lengthy, apologetic monologue about the width and breadth and depth of his sorrow, a guard hastily comes forward with the key and unlocks Carter, who immediately sighs, rolling her shoulders in relief.

"Better?" Jack asks.

"Much better, sir."

She's still flushed, but as Daniel and Teal'C help pull her to her feet, she keeps her eyes on him. Her gaze is open and honest, and he takes a deep breath, wondering how much she knows about what he's thinking.

The justice minister turns, gesturing, and two men bring a woman forward. She's petite, with a riotous mass of curly dark hair, and there are bits of feathers and hay clinging to her tunic.

"This is the real malefactress," the minister explains. "It is she we must sit at the Punishment Wall."

"What the hell did she do?" Jack asks.

"She stole four hundred and eighteen chickens."

"Four hundred and" – Daniel coughs. "Why? Why so many?"

The woman shrugs. "I was hungry."

SG-1 stare at each other warily as the chicken thief is sat down and locked into place. As the minister leads them back to the village, assuring them that they will be given lavish food and drink and gifts to atone for this terrible indignity, Teal'C turns to Jack.

"This entire occurrence has been most bizarre."

Jack smiles wanly. "Sure has."

_Bizarre_.

That's a safer word than any he's thinking of.

* * *

In retrospect, Jack really should have expected the dream he has the night after they get back.

His dreams are usually misty, odd things that dissolve in daylight; the only things that usually stick with him are the nightmares he never tells anyone about.

But this wasn't a nightmare.

He wakes with a start, turning to look beside him reflexively. But the other side of the bed is empty.

No handcuffs dangling from the headboard.

Jack staggers into the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face, rubbing his eyes, willing away the crystal-clear images of her body writhing under his hands, the soft, pitched cries, _please, sir, harder, just like that, yes –_

He climbs into the shower and turns the temperature down, hissing as he steps into the icy spray.

* * *

When he walks into the briefing room, Jack finds the rest of SG-1 already there. "Morning, everyone."

He takes the nearest seat; Carter's next to him, and after he sits, he steals a look at her –

\- only to find her blushing furiously, her eyes fixed on his fingers before she catches his eyes, her face guilty, and looks away.

Jack swallows hard, turning towards Hammond, who's just coming to join them.

He's not sure, but he has a pretty good feeling he's not the only one who dreamed about Carter tied to his bed last night.

* * *

After they've spent the morning avoiding each other, Jack decides to test out an olive branch.

So he knocks on the door of her lab with a cup of coffee. She looks up from the computer, and her face brightens, even as she looks at him a little uncertainly. "Sir."

"Thought I'd see if you needed a refill." He sets the cup carefully on her desk, and she takes it with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, sir."

She seems happy with the coffee; he takes that as a good sign. "How are your arms feeling today?"

"A little sore, but not too bad." She shrugs. "No lasting damage."

"Ah." He nods. "Well. That's good."

There's a long silence, and Jack wracks his brain to think of literally any other way to approach the issue that might not be inappropriate.

He comes up with nothing.

"Was there anything else, sir?"

_I swear I wasn't trying to make it any weirder than it was._

"Ah, no." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Nope. That's it."

"Right." She looks down at the cup. "Well, thank you."

"Sure." He turns to leave.

"Sir." Her voice is clearer, brighter. He looks back. She's watching him with a gentle, open look. "_Thank you._"

Jack lets out a long breath. There.

_We're okay_.

"See you at lunch, Major."


End file.
